THE OLD MAN & THE RAIN

Little pearls from heaven forming a mist on the boy’s window pane that was his first slate board. The man’s strong arms were holding up the boy’s small baby index finger and helping him to write his very first alphabet. A cold chill would race through his body when he touched the glass and then he would turn around and look at the man’s face and giggle showing the man his only two front teeth. He would then hold the boy closer to his chest making sure the boy was comfortable in his lap and continue without a word or expression. Every time it rained he would take the boy to the same window and continue teaching the boy to write.

Today years later I sit here beside the same window writing down a series of words instead of letters, I write them using the luxury of technology. I no longer need to use just my index finger. I’ve certainly grown up.

The little boy who was learning to write can now walk. He can now bite an apple at ease, but he was still too little to overcome his fears. He would squirm in his bed when there rain gods send lightning and thunder down on earth. He would cry in fear. The man despite his weakening senses would hear the boy cry and come to his aid. The man would then stay awake the whole night trying to rid the boy of his fears. He would tell the boy stories while patting his back. Despite the boy falling asleep the man would stay on his side sacrificing his own growing need to rest.

Today years later I lay on the same bed free of my fears. The rain gods have once again set the demons of sound and light to test me. Now I have earphones to muffle the sound and sleep mask to cut out the light. I do not need a story or a reassuring pat to go to sleep. I’ve certainly grown up.

The boy who used to squirm on his bed can now read and write. He no longer needs the man to teach him to write on misty window panes. He no longer needs the man to tell him stories, because he can read them on his own. The boy’s needs grew with his age. No matter how big or small his needs were the man would spend his fortunes for the boy despite needing them for his own needs. He would take out his old umbrella and drag his feet in the heavy rain. Sometimes the man would look at the boy hoping that the boy would go with him like in the old days holding his finger while the man went out to buy the boy sweets, but the boy never understood the look in the man’s eyes.

Today years later I do not need anyone to pay for my needs; nor do I have to get myself wet in heavy rain because now I have the luxury of a car. I’ve certainly grown up.

The boy who had needs to satisfy has now turned into a man himself and the man who helped him grow up has now grown old. As a boy he only had the old man’s hand to hold and walk in the rain, now he has found himself a woman, he thinks of her as what makes him complete. The old man now sits alone on his rocking chair smoking his pipe waiting for the boy, but the chances of that happenings is as dark as the clouds above.

Today years later I sit here on this rocking chair smoking a cigarette; I’ve certainly grown up.

The boy who learned to write on the window pane has become a renowned writer. He now discovers that old man is no more. He could feel a chill racing through his body while holding the phone, but this time there was no one to hold him close to their chest. He squirmed in his bed at night and fear was gripping him once again but there was none to rest his fear. He felt lost.

Today I stand in front of his tombstone and I realize that it was the old man who made me complete. I have turned into a writer the world now knows, but I had forgotten the man who made me who I am. He taught me to write. He told me stories and instilled his own interest in literature into me. He was always there for me whenever I needed anything. I stood there and a drop of rain fell on my face. Iremembered that he loved the rains and that was his favorite time of the year. Maybe the drop that fellon my face was his way of telling me from up above that he will always be there for me. He had left all his belongings to me – his only grandchild. I once again sat down in front of the old window and lifted my finger to write on the misty glass – “Love you grand pa”. Maybe I haven’t grown up, not yet.

My first short film

I'm now working on my first short fil - it's written by me. Hoping that it will be really good.

CHILD LABOUR AND IIT – THE PERFECT MISMATCH

Recently there were articles spammed across the social networking sites on KGP being the best IIT there is. Yes, we do have a system which lets US live life to the full, but NO we do not have a system that enables everyone to lead a similar life. Look around you and then you’ll see the injustice to which I’m pointing my fingers at.



To say that IIT Kharagpur is a breeding ground for Child Labour – One of the biggest social issues of the past decade is a disgrace. No reasons can justify why a reputed institute like ours closes its eyes on such an issue. IITs are expected to lead by example and create skilled people for the world, but the entire image itself is destroyed by what happens in the background.



A few common examples can give everyone a much clearer image:

VS – One of the most common eating joints in the institute. Hundreds of students visit the place daily and there would be only a handful of people who would have noticed the kid working there. If you have talked to him, you will understand how happy he is to have people talk to him. All he sees around him is students hanging out when he is being deprived of his childhood.



Vegies – When you need to eat at 2 in the night, you drop by this place and you can hear the bulky guy shouting at the top of his voice to a couple of kids. The cook for you and then they sometimes have to serve for you as well. If you drop by the same place in the morning you’ll notice these kids still working there. I once asked one of them if they go to school and he was too scared to reply. Sometimes you can notice them staying there overnight.



The examples are plenty – Azeem’s (NH), MMM Canteen, LLR Canteen, the cycle shop opposite BC Roy Hospital, Cheddis(Although not inside the campus – it forms an integral part of KGP life) and these are only few of the places I know of.



One of the most embarrassing events that I’ve come across was during the NSS blood donation camp in 2012. The blood donation camp is for a good cause, but to have a small kid serve tea for everyone marred the entire image of the camp. On talking to Prof Goutam Saha (in charge of NSS), he was of the same opinion. The only thing he could do then was sending the boy back to where he works. He had a few good things to say. We are all impulsive. We only react when we see such things, but we never do anything to follow up. To be frank he was right – after this incident, this note is the first thing I have done to spread some awareness.



To solve the problem is not easy. It takes patience and perseverance. Financial problem is mostly the reason why these kids are forced to work, but in any case the reason as to why they are denied their childhood has to be identified.

As some wise man once said – Charity begins at home. Your college is your second home. With a student population of around 9000, imagine what we can achieve together?



There are groups and several people working for social cause – I do not know of their work on this issue. But their sincere work can certainly make a difference. Many of us fasted for Anna Hazare, but what have we achieved? We spend hundreds of rupees every day, what if you take just one rupee out of it and add it to the contribution of the remaining 9000?

Instead of researching on the sexual orientation of the entire campus, what if a medium like the Scholars Avenue did something for a social cause?

Instead of mocking on the unique tradition “Illu” of our college what if TLS put up one wall magazine for awareness?

I do not mean to insult any group or person, all I ask of you all is not to close your eyes to what is happening in front of you. We all have memories to cherish from our school or college life, for once think about the children around you who are being deprived of such memories.